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Day 13: Write a
family poem. HierarchyI am the baby to my brother— A true brother’s keeper and confidant. We’ve cried on each other's shoulder, Fought each other’s battles, Prayed for our bullies, Thrived through beautiful struggles, And exchanged a token in life. To mother, I am the chosen one— The new pillar to harvesting apples on the tree; A damsel she taught how to shatter generational Curses, wave prayer around for answers To shower miracles and blessings, And crisscross spells with crosses, Without the supervision and Last name of my father or her father.

I inherited grandmother’s northern wit and southern charm. Love is our tattoo, Sandwiched by her homemade soul food; Chased by my top shelf cocktails And a spoonful of banana pudding. We are each other’s cure through the good, the bad, and the cancer. One out of eight, she didn’t orphan her three babies like her mother did her. I did eat from her mother’s pots once or twice. She was the black sheep of the family. She knew I was a bookworm that loved c…

Food for Thought: For Those Hungry or Full
As a child, I spoke as a child until I became woman.
And once upon of time, my tongue could only hold Gerber food, but now
I can season and marinate souls and foods like both of my grandmothers
and mother.
See, apples really do not fall far from trees.
And the trees that harvest good food will not be disremember and
disrespected. As long as we breathe, grow and roll together on blues and greens, the tree
that sprouted this “Good Apple” will not lack fertilization, water,
air, and the warmth from the sun and Son.

But I realize, every tree has broken and abused branches that do not
recognize nor understand the importance of restoration of the roots,
then or now.

See, help is only permissible to self.
Self-help will teach self-love.
Self-love will teach you how to offer love to others.

Hoping! Yes, hoping that the love distributed within our kinships will
spill over into our friendships just to keep the cycle of loving alive.
But, no!
For many,…